Romancing Robin Hood (25 page)

Thinking that discussing the paper would at least give them something to talk about if the conversation ran dry and became awkward, Grace began to compile a list of possible points to cover; even though as Rob had volunteered to write most of it, he'd probably done that himself already.

Grace had six ideas scribbled down when the front door bell rang, making her jump. Her heart immediately thudded faster in her chest, and she felt excitedly queasy.
Oh for goodness sake, woman. Get a grip!
Taking a long exhalation of air, Grace went to let Rob into her home.

Passing her a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers, Rob seemed vaguely embarrassed, ‘I know these are clichéd, but well, I wanted to get you something, and I have to confess I chickened out of anything that there was a danger of you hating.' Grace laughed and found herself relaxing in the face of his anxiety, ‘The flowers are beautiful.' She buried her face into the bunch of sunshine yellow roses. ‘I love them, and they are extra special, because no one has ever bought me roses before.'

‘You're kidding.' Rob put the wine down on the table, and smiled broadly as he surveyed her living room. ‘I can't believe that's true.'

Grace braced herself as she watched him look around her living room, ‘Do you want to run a mile now you've seen what sort of organised chaos I live in?' She ran her own eyes over the piles of books, folders, and newspapers, that had never got put away properly, and saw through a stranger's eyes how old and worn the sofa and armchair were, and how badly the threadbare carpet needed replacing.

‘Not at all. It is precisely as I imaged it; a glorious hotchpotch of clean clutter.' Rob took hold of Grace's hand, ‘It is rather similar to my own home, but obviously you have the edge when it comes to pictures of outlaws on the walls.'

Feeling the warmth of his palm flow through her, Grace smiled back at him, ‘At least they are tastefully framed.'

‘This is true.'

Coming back to her senses, and going into hostess mode, Grace pulled away from Rob and carried her flowers into the kitchen. Calling over shoulder to see if he wanted a drink, Grace found herself yelling straight at him, as Rob had followed her into the tiny cooking space. ‘Blimey, you made me jump.'

‘Something I seem to be in the habit of doing.' He took hold of both her hands this time, and Grace's insides did a back flip as Rob drew her against him.

As Rob's lips came to hers, Grace had vague thoughts that she ought to turn the oven down before the chicken burnt, but they dissolved as his right hand transferred itself from her palm to her rear, and sent mini electric shots of desire through her denims and down her legs.

He didn't speak, and Grace didn't want to break the tantalising new tension in the room. It hung heavy with a desire she hadn't felt for years, and without knowing how he did it, Grace found herself backed against the closed kitchen door, with a hand cupping her groin and Rob's steel blue eyes fixed into hers.

Grace sighed into his renewed kisses, as her hips moved forward to meet his firm caress, reassuring Rob without words that she welcomed his touch. As Grace reached up, and felt the broad curve of Rob's shoulders as he moved his palms to her waist.

The warmth of Rob's touch seemed to burn straight through Grace's clothes, and sent flickers of bliss shooting from her toes to the pit of her stomach, and onwards, racing from her throat in a gentle mewl of pleasure.

‘Hello, you.' He removed her hand, making Grace sigh softly into his shoulder, as he cradled her close. ‘Nice?'

‘Mild understatement, Dr Franks.' Grace took a few moments to recover herself, before she double-checked her approval of his kisses by rising up on her tiptoes and testing that she liked them all over again.

It was the smell of burning that bought her out of her unexpectedly aroused state.

‘Oh, hell!' Hurrying to the oven Grace pulled open the door, only to be greeted by a waft of charred steam, and confronted by two very dried-out chicken breasts and some rather caramelised potatoes.

Grace wanted to burst into tears. Seconds ago she'd been riding on an emotional and physical high, and now she couldn't even give the man who'd made her feel so incredible an edible dinner.

Turning off the oven, Rob shut its door. ‘Fish and chips cuddled up on the sofa?'

Smiling at him gratefully, Grace nodded. ‘Come on. There's a great takeaway around the corner.'

Eating the last chip from the greasy paper spread out on the coffee table before them, Grace said, ‘I've made a few notes about the paper you suggested writing,' as she snuggled in further under Rob's arm and rested her head on his shoulder, ‘you want to see them?'

‘Yes, but not now. I'm more interested in you telling me about how Mathilda is getting on.'

‘Really? Well, she's in a bit of a pickle right now. Someone's been killed, and she is looking like the chief suspect.'

Rob laughed, ‘Grace, you are adorable. Only you could call being accused of murder as being “in a bit of a pickle.” Most people would add at least a handful of expletives into that statement.'

‘I don't like swearing. Old fashioned, but I can't help thinking there are far more interesting adjectives out there than offensive ones.'

‘Not so much a fourteenth girl as a Victorian one then?' He kissed the top of her head as he spoke.

‘Oh I don't know; some of those Victorian gals could be pretty risqué, you know.'

‘Is that so?' Rob returned his attention to her lips, and Grace decided he tasted as good flavoured with salt and vinegar from the fish and chips as he did without.

They'd kissed, chatted, and kissed all evening, and although Grace had enjoyed every second, her body kept nagging at her. If he could make her feel that good with just his kisses, how on earth would he make her feel if he stayed the night? Unsure how to ask if he was planning to stay, Grace took a deep breath and was about to speak when Rob beat her to it.

‘The last train is in half an hour, love. Do I take it, or do I stay? It has to be your choice. I will respect either decision.'

Grace giggled, ‘But you'd prefer one answer over the other, I suspect?'

‘You've become very sure of yourself since our time in the kitchen.'

Blushing, Grace said, ‘Well, actually, you're giving yourself away.' She said no more, but allowed her eyes to flash towards his obviously enlarged crotch, that was pushing none too subtly against his jeans.

‘Which is why I need to go now if I'm going; I can't vouch for my good behaviour if I stay much longer.'

‘Then stay.' Grace didn't even hesitate, all her qualms about being alone with this man had gone. All she wanted was for him to ravish her right there, right now, and then do the same thing all over again once they'd reached her bedroom.

‘Thank God!' Rob turned around, and half tickled, half cuddled a giggling Grace until she was laying full length on her sofa. He moved her like she weighed nothing, and somehow, under the intensity of his desire driven gaze, Grace stopped laughing. All of a sudden she felt as if she was the most attractive woman in the world. What the hell had she being doing even having coffee with Malcolm? Daisy had been right again. In that moment, Grace found she wanted Rob by her side for at the wedding. It wouldn't be right without him now.

‘Rob? Will you come to Daisy's wedding with me?'

‘And see you in a posh frock and tottering in heels?'

‘And nice underwear …'

He groaned slightly, ‘How could a man resist? When is it again?' ‘8
^th
August, It's a Friday.' Grace whispered into his ear, suddenly feeling that her shirt was far too tight, and life would be a hell of a lot better when she could take it off.

Rob drew back a fraction, regret etched across his face, ‘Oh hell. I knew that date meant something, but I couldn't remember. Damn!'

‘What's the matter?'

‘I can't come. I'm in Houston the week before for a conference I planned before I came home. The 8
^th
is the day I fly home. Damn. I'd have loved to come with you.'

Grace was amazed at how let down she felt, even though she knew it wasn't Rob's fault he was busy. After all, only a few hours ago she had seriously considered asking someone else to the wedding. Trying to hide her disappointment, Grace brushed it away, ‘Well I'll just have to take my toyboy then, won't I!'

Rob's eyes narrowed, ‘You have a toyboy, Dr Harper?'

‘Not really, it was only the department secretary's stepson. He took me out for coffee, and then he …'

‘What?' Rob stood up, leaving Grace feeling alone and vulnerable on the sofa, ‘you've been seeing someone else?'

‘Of course not! Well, not on purpose.'

‘Not on purpose?' The smile in Rob's eyes died and turned to stone, ‘How can you go on a date not on purpose?'

Panic crept through Grace as she saw the pain in the face before her, ‘It wasn't a date. Honestly. I was sort of cornered into it by Agatha, and then …'

‘Save it!' Rob was already striding towards her front door.

Hurrying after him, Grace didn't know what to say, her mouth opened, but everything she wanted to say sounded like feeble excuses. He spun on the soles of his shoes as he opened the door. ‘Enjoy the wedding. I wish I wasn't able to imagine how incredible you've going to look as a bridesmaid. Goodbye, Grace.'

‘But … Rob, it was only coffee. I don't even … What about the paper?'

‘You can kiss goodbye to the paper, Grace. And trust me, that is the only thing you'll be kissing in the future if you two-time the first man you've dated in years this early on in a relationship!'

Chapter Twenty-seven

Grace felt as though she'd been dropped from a great height.

Slumped on her desk chair, she stared across at the sofa. If didn't seem right to sit on it somehow. Even though he'd gone, Rob's presence continued to fill the room like a confused spectre.

How had they gone from being happily snuggled together, feeding each other chips like a couple of loved up teenagers, to him storming out of her home and accusing her of seeing someone else.

What made it worse was that Grace knew that technically he was right. She
had
seen someone else, but she hadn't been given a lot of choice. And she had actively been trying to get out of the dinner date all day.

Grace had tried to call Rob's mobile twice, but his phone was switched off. Now as she sat staring at her phone, longing for it to ring, and for Rob to give her the chance to explain properly, despair overtook her.

She knew could send Rob a text or an email for him to find when he was ready, but Grace didn't think he'd believe a single word she wrote – if he even bothered to read them before pressing ‘delete'.

‘I have to face it, boys, it's pointless.' Grace spoke to the neatly framed posters that lined the wall behind the sofa, ‘Daisy was wrong. Rob can't be the one for me. I know I should have told him about Malcolm straight away, but if he overreacts like that, and can't even be bothered to give me the chance to explain before he stormed out, then he can't be Mr Right. The fact we have interests in common is merely a coincidence.' Grace closed her eyes to the disapproval she was sure she could see on the faces of all the celluloid Robin Hoods. The last thing she needed was her imagination making them disagree with her as well. She had to face facts; she'd missed the boat where men were concerned. She'd been on her own too long, and had been independent for too many years to understand the rules of the game any more.

Unable to sleep, Grace gave up the unequal struggle to stop her overactive brain from rehashing the previous evening over and over again. She wasn't sure she'd be able to go into her kitchen ever again. It would forever be the place where Rob brought her body to life with his kiss and the gleam in his beautiful round blue eyes.

Wrapping her duvet around her shoulders, Grace looked around her tidy bedroom. It seemed to be mocking her somehow, as if the fact she'd tidied this room more than any other in the hope that Rob might see it had somehow jinxed the whole affair.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Grace took herself downstairs, and braved a glimpse at the clock. She winced. It was only four thirty in the morning.

Flipping open her laptop, Grace sighed. ‘Looks like it's just you and me now, Mathilda.'

Reading back through the last few pages of her story, Grace pushed her mind into fourteenth-century mode, and concentrated on asking and answering all the question she knew must be simmering in Mathilda's head as she stood, half-undressed and vulnerable, in front of Robert in the Folville brothers' draughty manor house hall.

Mathilda tried to think. Why would the rector lie about the dagger? The obvious answer would be that he was the one who'd placed it in her cell ready to be discovered, but why would he do that? His reputation as the most ruthless brother, apart from Eustace, was well deserved if you believed the local rumours of rape and murder, although Mathilda was sure that he'd never been caught or tried for any of his crimes.

Robert's chair scraped against the dirty stone floor as he stood up, his feet still booted for riding, and his cloak grimy from so long in the saddle.

Mathilda studied him properly for the first time that morning. He appeared sallow and strained, but then, she realised, he had just lost a friend. Although she couldn't understand why Robert was friendly with such an unpleasant man. After only one day in his company, Mathilda had no problem with imagining Hugo upsetting someone enough for them to kill him, but she could see the situation had clearly rattled Robert more than he would ever be likely to admit.

‘Get dressed, Mathilda.' Robert broke off each word as though he was snapping twigs with his voice. ‘Sarah, bring the girl to the kitchen. It is time we bought her up to date. Then we have a new mission for her.'